


And we all fell down when the sun came up

by SparrowFlight246



Category: Black Panther (2018), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I’ll add more characters as they appear, I’ll add more tags later, Starts with a serious bang not gonna lie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 17:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15711789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparrowFlight246/pseuds/SparrowFlight246
Summary: Peter gets hurt, and Tony thinks he knows someone who can help.(Aka, Shuri gets another broken white boy for her to fix.)





	And we all fell down when the sun came up

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing like some heavy angst in the morning! It won’t be this bad forever, I promise. 
> 
> Title is from Panic! At the Disco’s Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and enjoy!

Getting alerts from Peter’s suit is far from uncommon for Tony. Over the months, he’s ended up reluctantly developing an extensive list of codes for each and every sort of disaster he can think of or has run into through experience, so that he can have at least of an _idea_ of what they’re dealing with every time Peter’s AI contacts him. It’s mostly the product of bored brainstorming when his other projects have hit a lull, but it has come in handy once or twice.

 

Although it started with the basics -code yellow, code green, code orange, etc- it forced Tony to get creative with his titles after a while, once the basics were used up. For instance, the newest addition is code turquoise. Despite it sounding like something straight out of a soapy medical drama, that one means Peter has somehow fallen into a large body of potentially harmful, non-water liquid and probably needs immediately assistance. It’s been used a surprising amount of times since it’s been established.

 

Tony’s not exactly proud of his codes (despite the fact that Rhodey finds them hilarious, saying Tony’s hover parenting tendencies have reached new bounds), but at this point, they’re beyond necessary and Tony has come to gradually accept them. Besides, Peter thinks they’re like the coolest thing ever.

 

But, throughout the entire time Tony has been monitoring Peter and fixing his mistakes, he’s never gotten a code black.

 

Not until today.

 

Tony is suited up and blasting through the wall of his workshop before Friday can even finish her report.

 

Because, even if it’s never been used before, Tony knows exactly what code black means and signifies, and the panic and horror that washes through his veins like ice water more than makes up for the giant hole that now gapes in his wall.

 

Peter’s heart has stopped beating.

 

***

 

“Bruce, call Bruce,” Tony all but yells as he blasts over the city. The suit feels eternally too slow but it’s the best he can get, and he pushes it to it’s max speed to the point of almost endangering it. It isn’t meant to go this fast for this long, but fuck it, fuck it all. “Or medevac, or better yet, both.”

“Medevac has been alerted and are on route. Boss, your heart rate is elevated. My search engines suggest deep breaths may ease-”

 

“Hell _yes,_ my heart rate is elevated,” Tony snaps. “I’m fine, it’s _Peter’s_ heart we need to be worried about here, for fuck’s sake.” He’s following the map casted across his view religiously, racing to the blinking dot leading him to the Spider-Man suit’s location and never letting his eyes leave it. He can barely feel his hands. “What’s the status on the medevac?”

 

“They are an estimated 8 minutes away, boss.”

 

Tony’s breathing stutters. “And me? How far away am I?” People typically have about 4-6 minutes after their heart stops before damage begins. He must have gotten the code alert about three or four minutes ago already.

 

Fuck, _fuck,_ they’re running out of time.

 

“An estimated 51 seconds away from Mr. Parker’s location.”

 

Tony gulps, his gaze flickering over the map before his eyes. “Call Bruce.”

 

“Calling: Bruce Banner.”

 

It’s only a few seconds later that Friday’s voice is replaced by Bruce’s, a little hoarse and very confused. “Ugh, Tony? It’s the middle of the night, what’s going on?”

 

“It’s Peter,” Tony says, distantly realizing that it actually is the middle of the night but not taking the time to consider it. “I think I’m going to need your help.”

 

“Peter?” Bruce repeats, and his voice is already clearing, gaining the note of worried intensity it always does when somebody he cares about gets hurt. “What’s wrong with Peter? Tony, what’s happening?” 

 

“His heart apparently stopped,” Tony says, and he’s impressed at how steady his voice stays, how calm he sounds. “I can’t get in contact with his suit’s AI, so I don’t know how bad we’re talking right now.”

 

There’s a brief pause, and Tony can hear Bruce softly swearing across the line. “Where’s medevac?”

 

“Probably about 7 minutes away, at this point.”

 

“Okay,” Bruce says. “You ready for some CPR, Stark?”

 

“Give me two and a half seconds and we’ll see,” Tony mutters in return, and according to his map, he’s almost directly above Peter’s location. He’s a in a forgotten part of the city, with grungy buildings and littered sidewalks, that he rarely visits, but he’s already scanning the streets for a flash of color. “Friday, engage BabyFinder distress flare.”

 

Instantly, bright blue and red sparks explode from a shadowed corner, and Tony dives.

 

He stumbles once he reaches the ground, falling hard to his knees beside the prone figure lying sprawled across the pavement and not registering the jolt the impact shoots through his system. Before him is the broken body of a gangly teenager in a suit of blue and red, and for just half a moment, Tony allows himself to entertain the outrageous possibility of this specific teenager being not Peter.

 

But then he tugs off the mask and tosses it aside, and if there was any doubt about what happened before, it’s long gone. There is absolutely no mistaking Peter Parker.

 

His features are lax and his limbs are limp, but what’s likely most distressing is the giant puddle of blood spreading beneath him on the New York City concrete.

 

That, or the long piece of metal impaled through his abdomen.

 

“Oh, kid,” Tony breathes, his gauntlet retracting from his right hand as he presses his fingers to Peter’s throat _-he knows there’s nothing there but he has to try-_ and rests his free hand on the boy’s still chest, carefully avoiding the metal. He already feels cold. “Jesus, what did you do to yourself?” The kid’s pale as a sheet, parted lips turning blue and closed eyes shadowed. They’ve always made jokes about him being the baby of the group, but he’s never looked so painfully young than he does right now, skin grey in the dirty city lights. 

 

And, no matter how much he searches for it, there’s no pulse beating against Tony’s fingertips. There’s nothing at all. 

 

“Tony?” Bruce demands, his voice sharp. “What’s happening?”

 

“He got impaled,” Tony says softly, eyes tracing the metal bar. His left hand tenses on Peter’s chest, the tight material sliding under his metal fingertips. “There’s- god, Bruce, there should not be this much blood outside of a human body.”

 

“Shit,” Bruce breathes. “How long has it been since his heart stopped beating?”

 

“6 minutes and 2 seconds,” Friday responds, filling in where Tony’s voice fails. 

 

“Tony, start compressions, _now.”_

 

And Tony does, red and gold metal racing to recover his hand as he laces his fingers and starts rapid compressions over Peter’s unmoving chest. He can feel the blood still seeping from the wound as he goes, but he can’t stop. Bruce counts aloud in his ear, helping him to keep track of the numbers, while Friday occasionally announces statistics Tony desperately doesn’t want to hear. “Come on, Underoos,” he hisses under his breath, watching Peter’s lax face for any flicker of anything. “Don’t you dare leave us now, you hear me? You don’t get to leave me now.”

 

He can feel Peter’s enhanced ribs giving way under his hands, the blood pooling around his hands, staining the blue a deep wine purple and the red almost black with saturation, but he doesn’t let himself think about it. Doesn’t let himself stop.

 

If doing this gives Peter even a percentage of a chance to survive, then, for fuck’s sake, he can’t stop. The kid’s fifteen _(fifteen)_ and way too young to leave this world, there’s so much he hasn’t reached yet and so much he hasn’t experienced yet and so much life for him to live. “Come on, kid,” Tony all but growls, and now the desperation, the pleading, is starting to leak into his tone.

 

Because, truly, Tony is beginning to get the feeling that he’s working over a body and nothing more.

 

“Keep going, Stark,” Bruce says sharply in between numbers, as if he can tell Tony is starting to lose hope. There’s muffled noises across the line, but his voice stays present, steadily counting under his breath around his words even as he speaks. “Don’t stop now. Keep going.”

 

And Tony does, the compressions being done almost entirely by the mercy of the suit by now. He kneels over the kid’s unmoving body in a forgotten corner of the city, the sidewalk below him and the dingy street lights above him, dark buildings shooting up around him and the sounds of the city always going, going, going. 

 

“Boss, medevac has arrived.”

 

Tony looks up to see half a dozen vividly colored paramedics running towards them, one toting along a gurney and others dragging along equipment. Somehow, among them is Bruce, wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants with curly hair mussed and an expression of determination. 

 

He’s the one to pull Tony away from Peter. The paramedics swarm the kid, shouting to each other and hooking the kid up to monitors and equipment right there on the sidewalk to avoid moving him, their yellow jackets blindingly bright against the dingy landscape as the blinking lights cast bright colors across the darkness. They flash red and blue, ghosts of hues lighting up the world. 

 

Red and blue. Of course.

 

Once they’re out of the way of the paramedics, Bruce reaches around Tony’s shoulder to press the release he was shown years ago, the suit immediately opening up and spilling Tony out. Bruce catches him before he can fall. 

 

“You did good, Tony,” Bruce mutters as he wraps his arms around in him in something like a hug and something like holding the other man up, both to keep Tony from hitting the ground and to gouge just how much his heart is pounding. Tony numbly allows him to, watching over his shoulder as the paramedics work frantically on the kid on the ground. “You did so good.”

 

“We’ve got a pulse!” one of the paramedics shouts, and Tony’s knees suddenly give out entirely.

 

Bruce isn’t able to keep them both standing, so they both sink to the ground, watching the paramedics run around Peter’s limp form in the flashing lights as the empty and regal Iron Man suit stands guard just behind them.


End file.
